


Just to be seen by my eyes

by Ilrona



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, And it’s not a fun threesome, Hux hates the helmet but loves the dick, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, The third person in the bed is Kylo Ren’s helmet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7649431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilrona/pseuds/Ilrona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux mocks and wheedles and pleads, trying to convince Kylo Ren to take off his helmet when they fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to be seen by my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the lyrics of ‘Saturn' by Sleeping at Last.

Hux sneers, trying to leave scratches on Ren's battered helmet. But his nails are too weak. “Take this off, Ren. Isn't it terrible to spend the whole time panting and drooling for me behind this ugly helmet?”

Ren makes a sound that’s probably only an amused laugh, but the helmet changes it, gives it a sinister quality that makes Hux’s dick even harder. “I could just fuck you from behind, then you won’t have to stare at my ugly helmet.”

Ren thrusts the two fingers inside him deeper, pulling a pleased moan out of Hux’s throat. He can hear another distorted laugh somewhere under the helmet, and scowls at it.

“You look like a droid. It’s like getting fucked by a damn droid, Ren, and this helmet isn’t even a good design. You just look ridiculous. What is this thing supposed to represent?” He jabs viciously at the unadorned hard skull of the helmet, then tries to pretend his finger doesn’t hurt.

He wants Ren to get offended. He’s aware of the risk that Ren might pull his fingers out, wipe them off on his ridiculous rags, turn around and leave – which would leave Hux sexually unsatisfied, but at least he would feel victorious, and that would be a satisfaction too, a different kind but perhaps even better. But Ren's feelings are not so easily wounded, or perhaps the tight grip of Hux's ass around his dick is too good.  

“Many things. But power, more than anything else.” Ren sounds very serious, though Hux likes to tell himself that it’s impossible to take Ren seriously with the voice that sounds like a malfunctioning droid.

“Power,” Hux echoes, as mocking as he can, and he can be very mocking. Usually he reserves it for the New Republic, but Kylo Ren is also something that deserves to be mocked for many things. “It just makes people think you’re hiding, afraid of anyone seeing your face. That’s not very powerful.”

“I don’t care what others think,” Ren says. He pulls his fingers out.

Hux looks at him smugly, ignoring the sudden emptiness. “If you truly don’t, why don’t you show us your face?”

“Maybe it’s too much to bear.” Ren plunges in three fingers, delightfully brutally, and the stretch is just the tiniest bit too much, but Hux loves it. He groans, throws his head back, and knocks it against the wall. The sudden pain makes him grimace. He feels Ren’s other hand move to cradle the back of his head. His fingers are slow, almost gentle, the opposite of the hand roughly opening his ass, like he’s trying to make sure there’s no blood in his hair from the collision with the wall. As if Hux’s head, not protected by a helmet, is so fragile that it would get hurt just from this. And as annoying as that thought is, the touch, with its sort of caring tenderness, perhaps feels somewhat nice too.

When Ren seems to be satisfied that there’s nothing wrong – or maybe disappointed that he can’t mock Hux for getting hurt –, his fingers fall away from his head. And then, his fingers leave his ass too. Bereft of both hands, Hux bites into his lower lip to make sure he won’t ask Ren to touch him again.

“You and the other officers, and the stormtroopers, nobody in the crew knows anything about the Force. But I’m its master, and it saturates every cell in my body. If anyone could see my face, the raw darkness of the Force that fills my eyes would kill them. Just one look into my eyes would mean instant, absolute death.”

That doesn't sound in any way possible, Hux thinks. He can vaguely recall something about Sith eyes turning yellow, but. If Ren could kill with a look, he would walk into battle without his helmet and kill his enemies without having to lift a finger. Unless, of course, he  _enjoys_  cutting them down with his lightsaber, which is very likely.

“Fortunately for you – and me too, of course –, my dick is still bearable.” Ren struggles a little to take said dick, already erect, out of his pants without actually getting out of his pants – he has no underwear, which is just appalling.

“Don’t sell your dick so short, Ren.” Hux grabs it, basking in the feeling of the hard hot length, heavy and slightly curving up in his hand. It’s a nice dick, very big but other than that perfectly normal. It’s a healthy pink color, flushed with eager blood now, a clear drop of pre-come already winking up at Hux from the slit. There’s no creepy discoloration or spikes or any other proof of some fucked-up Force decay. Ren’s eyes are probably perfectly normal as well. “It’s much better than bearable. I like it a lot. I think if you would show me your face, I could like that a lot too. If you can give half as much pleasure to me with your mouth as with your dick, I would quickly grow very fond of it.”

The wheedling seems to have no effect. But maybe Ren is blushing under his helmet, a silly grin on his face. Or he’s rolling his eyes. Hux doesn’t know. There are certain signs of his body that betray what Ren feels. His hands and dick are the loudest telltales, of course, but even out of the bedroom, the cadence of his walk, the curve of his shoulders, the tilt of his head can help Hux figure out whether Ren is angry or uncertain, satisfied or tired.

But there are times, like now, when Ren is impossible to read.

“If you like it so much, will you suck my cock?”

Hux stares down at it, smiles as it twitches when he squeezes teasingly. He feels the saliva of anticipation gather in his mouth. It would be quite good to take it into his mouth, let inside just the head first and wait for Ren to start trying to push it deeper, impatient selfish fool as he is, and then slowly, because he’s big,  _fuck_ , have Ren’s dick conquer his mouth, have his throat stuffed full. It would be difficult, but Hux would persevere, and Ren would end up whining about how good it feels, how grateful and awed he is that Hux’s mouth is so wonderful–

“Only if you suck mine in return,” Hux says, smirking meanly. “It wouldn’t be fair otherwise, would it?”

“Fine,” Ren says. Hux feels dizzy as he thinks:  _yes, oh, yes_. But then Ren adds: “I don’t need your mouth. Your ass is warm and tight enough for my dick.”

Feeling defeated but still wanting to be fucked, Hux doesn’t fight when Ren puts him onto his back on the bed and makes him spread his legs with his big hands on his thighs. When Ren sinks into him, slowly but without being unnecessary cautious, he sullenly swallows down the appreciative whimper, refusing to show how good it feels.

“Stop pouting.” Ren’s hips twitch, pushing in a little bit more. But then he doesn’t start thrusting. Hux shivers, involuntarily clenching around the thick, unmoving cock, waiting for Ren to start fucking him. “If my helmet makes you so uncomfortable, get on your hands and knees.” When Hux just stares up at him with unimpressed eyes, Ren adds quickly: “Or I can leave.”

“Show me your face,” Hux demands.

“That’s not an option,” Ren’s distorted voice rumbles. When Hux doesn't say anything else, Ren finally starts pounding into him.

He can’t lie to himself: he loves this. Even when Ren is gone on one of his mysterious missions, Hux thinks about him in his bed, three fingers up his ass. He moans up at the ceiling as he fucks himself with his fingers, wishing they were Ren’s dick instead. It’s one of his few moments of selfish indulgence, something that has nothing to do with fighting for the victory of the First Order. Something pleasurable and comfortable and good that has to do only with him, not with the cause – and, unfortunately, with Ren as well.

When he masturbates alone, he can allow any sounds and expressions, because no one is there. Perhaps if Ren’s face wasn’t hidden, Hux wouldn’t restrain himself. But now, staring up at that featureless mask, he does his best to stifle every moan Ren tries to fuck out of him with every magnificent thrust. He tries to make his own face a mask: he can’t do anything about his blush or his pupils growing fat with lust, but he can close his lips, close his eyes, hide away as much as possible. 

Hux prefers to be fucked from behind. Some say, he knows, that it’s demeaning, that if your partner is looking at your ass instead of your face it’s humiliating, impersonal, unequal, whatever. But those that believe that have never been fucked by Kylo Ren, because Hux knows that nothing can feel more unequal, more  _unfair_  than this: having his face there for Ren to stare at, having to struggle to hide his feelings, while Ren’s own face can do whatever it wants, hidden safely behind his mask.

Ren’s helmet is close above him, but not close enough that they’re touching, not even close enough that Hux could smell him. Without the helmet, maybe, Ren would bury his face against his shoulder, press kisses into the hollow of his collarbone, suck a hickey into his neck. They could kiss, lips and tongues meeting messily, wonderfully. They could rub their noses against each other – but no, not that, that would be too much. But kisses – those would be nice.

What would Ren smell like: his hair, his face? Does he use the First Order’s shampoo, or does he have some fancy special one? Is his hair soft, often-washed, tidy, or is it an awful mess, never combed and stinking of sweat and blood and smoke? But surely not. Ren’s hands, though calloused, are clearly cared for: his nails always clean and cut, and they usually smell like some pleasant herbal soap.

Hux knows Ren’s hands just as much as he knows Ren’s dick: the two parts of Ren’s body that are not a mystery. He knows how big and pale they are, how rough the long fingers can be when they thrust between his lips to press his tongue down, or when they circle the rim of his hole. How they cradle his small waist or hold the back of his neck with that arrogant, almost proprietary confidence while he fucks Hux down into the mattress.

Once, one of those hands was lying on Ren’s chest while Hux was leisurely fucking into him as he was lying on his back, his heavy breathing and the few little moans that slipped out distorted by the helmet. And Hux thought then that Ren’s hand weirdly resembled some strange, vulnerable sleeping creature – he frowned at the fanciful metaphor, wondering why his brain came up with it and finding no answer. He banished the thought from his mind, and started to thrust harder.

Now, Hux takes one of Ren’s ungloved fingers into his mouth – one not wet with lube, of course. He wraps his tongue around it, then sucks, hollowing his cheeks. He hopes he comes off as dignified and elegantly erotic instead of bad holoporn sleazy, but he can’t be sure. “I could do this to your dick, Ren. You know I have a very clever tongue, and I don’t mean just giving speeches and orders.”

“My dick is quite satisfied with your ass too, thank you,” Ren drawls. Unable to come up with anything clever, Hux instead bites down on Ren’s finger as ruthlessly as he can. He doesn’t draw blood, but Ren still makes a loud, kind of horrifying groan. The sound, twisted by the helmet, is more like something pushed out of some beast’s slobbering maw in its death throes than anything that should leave a human’s mouth. It takes Hux a second to realize that this awful sound is because Ren is coming, spilling his seed deep into Hux. Hux is trembling as Ren’s body pushes him down into the bed with an overpowering strength that would scare him if he didn’t love it so much. Damn it. Hux can’t even feel annoyed about Ren’s awful noises when everything else feels so great.

After Ren gets out of his orgasm, his dick slips out, leaving Hux’s hole clenching around nothing. He snarls, feeling so close, so unsatisfied. He wants to come so bad it hurts. Ren’s horrible faceless helmet is staring down at him, revealing nothing.

It feels so unfair. Hux wants to see the proof of Ren’s orgasm. Sure, if he slipped his fingers into his hole he would find it filthy with Ren’s come, but he wants more: Is there a bright flush on Ren’s face now? Sweat beaded on his forehead? Are his eyes closed, or is he looking at Hux? Is his mouth hanging open, panting silently, or are his lips tightly pressed together?

“Please,” Hux gasps out, throwing an arm across his eyes, trying to hide at least some of himself. He feels stupid, desperate, but he can’t swallow down the pleas that force themselves out of his mouth. “Let me see your face. You can see mine. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Please, Ren.”

Suddenly Ren wraps his fingers tight around Hux’s cock, starting a sloppy, hurried rhythm, no gentleness, no teasing. Either he wants this over with quickly now that his own dick is spent, or he can, maybe, sense somehow that Hux is in no mood for drawing this out.

“I want to come all over your helmet.” The words are out of his mouth the moment they appear in his mind. He swallows, more regret dripping into his stomach like some bitter poison: why did he just give one more thing to Ren to reject?

Ren leans down, and presses his face to his cock. It’s – oh, fuck. The feeling of unyielding, hard metal, just cool enough to be uncomfortable but not so much that Hux can’t bear it against his own aching, vulnerable dick, makes his upper body rise off the bed and his thighs snap closed. He curls his body around Ren’s head, trapping the helmet. His orgasm slams into him so hard for a moment he thinks he’s going to pass out, his whole body suffused with hot pleasure.

When it recedes, leaving behind a strange feeling of weakness, Hux flops back onto his bed, his legs falling open. He pants up at the ceiling.

He turns his face when Ren lies down next to him, his head on the pillow. His helmet is coated with Hux’s come: a white mess on the previously unadorned blackness of it, some even on the silver parts. He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he smirks at Ren.

“I like this design more.”

The sound he hears somewhere from under the helmet could be best described as an ominous giggle, the vocoder messing it up.

“I like the color of your hair.” Ren’s big pale hand twitches, but he doesn’t touch Hux’s hair. Hux almost wants him to, though he isn’t certain he wouldn’t want to bite his fingers off if they dared to grab Hux’s hair. Not when Hux isn’t even allowed to  _see_  Ren’s hair. “My hair is dark. My eyes are brown.” There’s a pause, then: “They can’t kill.”

“I never really believed they can, Ren.”

Now Ren does bury his fingers in Hux’s hair, not pulling, not taking hold, but his fingers are there, touching his hair. Hux doesn’t do anything.

“Don’t spend a lot of time wondering what my face is like,” Ren’s altered voice is devoid of everything, but the fingers playing with Hux’s hair feel like they want to convey some kind of soft emotion, reassurance or comfort, perhaps. “It’s underwhelming, actually. Nothing special. Or, maybe I need the helmet to survive. Like Darth Vader. His body was very badly damaged, but he could live for many years in it after, because he used his helmet and armor as a sort of life support system.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I know you don’t need that helmet. I looked at your medical record, Ren. You’re human, you’re younger than me, and you’re perfectly healthy. The only illness you have is cowardice.”

Ren doesn’t try to argue.

“I like  _your_  face a lot.”

“Fuck off,” Hux bares his teeth, wanting to look vicious. But he feels so tired, and swindled and used somehow. Except Ren has never promised him anything. He never said:  _Let me fuck you and I will show you my face_. Hux could choose whether he wants to be fucked with the helmet on or not, and he wanted.

“I like it. It’s a strong face.”

 _Strong_. Whatever that means. It sounds like a good thing, maybe, but when it comes to Ren, it’s impossible to know anything for sure.

But Hux likes his face too. It’s one of the two parts he likes when it comes to his body. He likes how tall he is, how many people have to look up at him, and he likes his face. He likes how mostly symmetrical it is, how there are no weird blemishes on it. None of his features is too much. When someone looks at him, they see his whole face, not distracted by a too big nose or a too sultry mouth or anything like that. There are no scars. The few imperfections, the pale little freckles on his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes he hides under a thin layer of concealer. He likes to think his face is handsome in a severe, difficult to approach way.

His body he’s not proud of: too small, too unimpressive. It seems weak and fragile, everything Hux is not. But the shoulder pads, the flared pants, the greatcoat, the straight-backed, head held high posture he wears help conceal that. Appearances are important, especially in the First Order. Is that simply what Ren’s mask is for, perhaps? To make an unimpressive face better?

Still, Hux bares his body for Ren: completely naked, he allows Ren to see everything. Yes, he has this flaw, this thin, frail-looking body, but just as he’s willing to take responsibility for any mistake he makes, he’s willing to reveal his body to Ren. Unlike Ren, he isn’t afraid.

He leaves Ren, walks to the refresher. He wipes off the skin between his thighs quickly, efficiently. Sometimes Ren does it for him, and then he teases Hux, slipping the tip of a finger into his oversensitive, stretched hole until Hux bats his hand away with a scowl.

There are no cams in Ren’s quarters. Hux tried to argue about it with Snoke when he found out, but Snoke told him that Hux must trust his apprentice and that was the end of the discussion. Hux almost decided to fuck it and place a cam secretly into Ren’s room, but then he thought that it’s not worth invoking Snoke and Ren’s wrath if he gets caught. He’s not  _that_  curious, anyway.

Once, not long ago, Ren was badly wounded coming back from a mission. Hux was very quickly reassured with a short message from medbay that his co-commander won’t die and will certainly recover in a week at most. So Hux didn’t worry about it, spent five days without even wandering near the medbay. On the beginning of the sixth day, while eating a meager breakfast of a cup of steaming caf and sour jam thinly spread onto a slice of tasteless bread, he suddenly thought:  _Surely Ren can’t wear his helmet in the medbay._

So Hux went to the medbay, just a quick visit before he had to appear on the bridge. One of the nurses gave him a perfectly respectful if slightly confused greeting, and told him that Lord Ren had already left yesterday.

He scowls as the memory fills him with the echo of the intense disappointment he felt then, followed by the anger, not even truly at Ren but mostly at himself for caring so much. What does it matter how Ren’s face looks? As long as he continues his work to aid the First Order, and as long as his dick works, Hux is as satisfied with him as he will ever be.

When he gets back to the room, Ren is kneeling, dressed in his all-black outfit, his dick put away but his hands still bare, his helmet, as always, on. Hux blinks, not trusting his eyes. But Ren really is there, silent and motionless on his knees, like some bizarre statue.

Hux walks to him, unsure. When he’s close enough, Ren grabs his hips, two big hands holding him like unbreakable vices. He stares up at Hux, or at least the helmet does. Hux’s come is still on his helmet; the sight makes Hux both proud and disgusted.

“Your face will be the face of the glory and victory of the First Order, General Hux.” Not even the vocoder is capable of getting rid of all traces of fondness in his altered voice. Hux feels warmth bloom in his chest. “You have the face of an emperor.”

Hux’s mouth falls open, his blood turning freezing cold.

Surely Ren can’t know about his great secret ambition? Is this just an attempt to compliment Hux with what he thinks would make him the most pleased?

Hux tries to laugh, wanting to convey confusion, but he can hear it sounds forced. “What, like Palpatine? Wasn’t he said to be really ugly?”

Ren tilts his head. Good. This is a sign Hux can understand even without seeing the face: this head tilt means surprise and confusion. “No, not like Palpatine. Palpatine is dead; his era is the past.”

Hux waits, wildly pounding heart caught in his throat, for Ren to go on, to explain his cryptic words. But the helmet remains silent.

Hux knows the theories, both among the members of the First Order and their enemies. Some are very out-there, utterly ridiculous: Ren is not a being of flesh and blood, but some manifestation of the Force itself, incorporeal dark energy wearing the form of a human being bound in a prison of metal and dark robes. Or Ren is some kind of bipedal beast with ten eyes that cries tears of acid and an eternally bleeding mouth with a thousand teeth that can tear durasteel apart. The helmet, like a muzzle, protects the rest of the galaxy from Ren’s monstrous face. Some less crazy beliefs include that Ren is a senator of the New Republic who is a spy for the First Order (though someone should have informed General Hux, surely, if this is true), and this is why he has to hide his face, as well as the very mundane explanation that he’s simply really unattractive.

Hux will find it out, sooner or later. Ren can’t hide from him forever. The worst possibility is that Ren will one day come back from a mission dead, and, before he’s cremated or whatever the Knights of Ren do with their deceased members, Hux will have the first and last chance to look at his naked face. But he would much rather see Ren’s face when it’s still alive.

Ren rests his heavy, cool metal head against Hux’s naked thigh. Without the helmet, his soft warm human breath would fall onto Hux’s skin. Now, there’s nothing.

Ren nudges him gently, almost shyly. The strange gesture reminds Hux of a tamed beast seeking to endear itself to its owner after putting them through many hardships. Trying to apologize. Hux, his heart twisting painfully, slowly puts his hand onto the hard, battered top of Ren’s head.


End file.
